_BRIDGE OUT!_
Flash was prepared for a curt refusal. Surprisingly, Doyle considered a
moment, and then began to unload equipment. He said nothing, but his
smoldering eyes made it clear he intended to make a full report to Mr.
Clewes.
With camera set up and focused on the bridge, Flash nervously waited.
The only thing which would justify his high-handed action would be
success. If the bridge failed to go out, Doyle would score heavily in
the final reckoning.
The water rose higher and higher, slapping against the piling with a
powerful surge. Yet the bridge held. Minutes elapsed and Flash became
increasingly uneasy. Surely, he thought, the structure could not
withstand such punishment for long.
Doyle looked at his watch with a disgusted expression.
“We’ve wasted another half hour—” he began.
From far down the road came the roar of a fast traveling automobile.
Flash and Doyle both turned to stare.
A car raced toward the bridge at seventy miles an hour. It struck a dip
in the road where water flowed, and the tires sent up a great muddy
sheet. With undiminished speed, the automobile sped on.
At the bridge, guards leaped into action, shouting and waving their red
flags to draw attention to the barrier.
The driver could not fail to see that the bridge entrance was blocked.
Still the car roared on. Flash suddenly comprehended the reason. The man
was being pursued by a state highway police car. If he halted for the
bridge, it meant capture!
“There’s our picture, Doyle!” he shouted. “Get ready!”
The car struck the barrier with a resounding crash. Boards splintered
like so much match wood, but scarcely slowed down the daring driver.
Bridge girders rattled and planks pounded as the automobile plunged on.
Nothing happened for a moment. And then a cry of horror arose from the
crowd of spectators.
“It’s going out!”
One side of the bridge wrenched free from the piling and swung around in
the swift current. There it held an instant and then slowly toppled
sideways into the boiling flood. As the car slid with it, the driver
pushed open the door and leaped into the river. His dark head remained
above the surface for a minute, then disappeared.
Horrified at the disaster, Flash nevertheless pivoted his camera to
photograph the entire scene—the crumbling of the bridge, the driver’s
wild leap, even the arrival of the state police car which raced to the
end of the road and stopped with a jolting lurch.
Attracted by a startled outcry from the excited spectators, his gaze was
drawn far down river. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the struggling man
before the unfortunate fellow was pulled under again by the racing
current.
The distance was too great for an effective shot, but Flash was not
thinking of pictures. Leaving his camera behind, he plunged into a deep
ditch at the roadside. Wading across, muddy water oozing about his
armpits, he ran on through a soggy field to a bend in the river.
Once more he glimpsed the struggling man who was fighting gamely for
life against overpowering odds.
With no thought for his own safety, Flash kicked off his shoes and dived
into the river. Exerting all of his strength, he fought to keep from
being carried downstream.
He had judged the current accurately, for the man was brought directly
toward him. Reaching out, he barely grasped him by the coat. There was a
brief struggle and they both disappeared beneath the surface.
After an exhausting effort they regained the surface, and drifted with
the current, using what strength remained to keep their heads above
water. Even with lungs bursting, Flash managed to hold tightly to the
man. Whenever he could, he gulped in air, but breath and strength were
ebbing.
Suddenly he felt himself dashed against a solid object. The current had
brought a long, heavy plank downstream. He pulled himself and his
companion onto it, and they clung with head and shoulders well above
water.
For a minute the river carried them swiftly. Then their ride ended
abruptly, as the plank caught against a half-submerged fallen tree which
was festooned with a motley collection of debris and foam.
There the plank lodged fast. They were able to secure fairly firm holds
on the projecting arms of the tree, but the current whipped their legs
beneath them and threatened to sweep them on.
Grimly they clung to their precarious refuge. The man Flash had aided
aroused himself after a dazed moment, and looked about in panic.
“Easy now,” warned Flash.
Instead of thanking the cameraman for saving his life, he began to
revile him.
“If you had kept out of this I would have made a clean get-away! Now the
dicks probably are on my tail!”
The man’s words proved prophetic for the state police had followed down
river and were at a point opposite where the pair clung.
A rope sailed accurately through the air, settling across the tree.
Reaching to his full length, Flash was able to grasp it. As he started
to knot it about his companion’s body, the man struck wildly at him.
“They won’t get me!” he shouted hoarsely. “I’ll drown first!”
His hold loosened, but Flash acted quickly. He seized the man’s coat
collar with his left hand, maintaining his own grasp on the tree limb.
The swift current whipped his legs from beneath him.
But help was at hand. A state patrolman who was a strong swimmer,
reached the sunken tree. He tied the rope about the struggling man and
signaled for a fast haul-in to shore. Flash followed with the officer.
“Good work,” a trooper praised him. “You took a big chance, young man,
both with the river and your pal here. Know who he is?”
Flash shook his head. He was searching for his discarded shoes.
“Andy Clevenger.”
“Not the bank robber?”
“The same. He was recognized at a quarantine stop, but got away. We’ve
chased him twenty miles.”
Flash began wringing water from his ruined suit. He was plastered with
mud from head to foot.
“There’s a reward out for Clevenger’s capture,” the state policeman went
on. “You may get some of the money. Give me your name and address. I
think I can guarantee you a new suit at least.”
“I can use it. And I’d like permission to take some pictures before you
pack this fellow off to jail.”
“Go right ahead.”
Handcuffed, the prisoner was led back to the patrol car where Flash shot
close-ups and obtained complete information about his past record.
Doyle, somewhat stunned by the events which had transpired, had little
to say.
“Are you sorry we waited?” Flash asked him. “These pictures should stack
up any day with a polo match.”
“You’re a fool for luck, just as Joe said,” Doyle muttered. “I suppose
you knew just what would happen?”
“I only hoped for a good bridge picture. But when Lady Luck showers down
I believe in spreading a wide net.”
Flash was shivering from cold. Wrapping himself in his overcoat, he
allowed Doyle to do most of the loading work.
Back in town once more, he sought a clothing store and quickly purchased
a new suit. While it was cheaply tailored, he thought it would serve
until he reached Excelsior City.
“You look like a country rube in that outfit,” Doyle jeered as his
companion climbed back into the sound truck.
“Can’t help it,” Flash replied, undisturbed. “It’s warm and clean, at
least.”
The cameramen followed Highway 23, avoiding the river. At the first city
of any size which boasted an airport, they paused long enough to ship
their cans of film to the home office. Then they drove on at break-neck
speed for Excelsior City.
Doyle squinted at a clock in a store window as they went through a town.
“By skipping lunch we still might get there in time for the last chukker
of the game,” he announced.
“It won’t do any harm to try,” Flash agreed. “But after the pictures we
just took, polo will seem pretty tame.”
“It’s our assignment,” Doyle said sharply. “Don’t forget that.”
“I’ve not forgotten.”
Flash glanced sideways at his companion. He could not believe that Doyle
honestly thought they had made a mistake in passing up a polo game for
the flood pictures. Obviously, the technician had a special reason for
wishing to reach Excelsior City.
“And that reason,” he reflected, “has nothing to do with our work. If
I’m any good at guessing, he’s bent on wangling an invitation to
Rascomb’s lodge!”